


And It Always Leads to You in My Hometown

by itsallaboutflowermetaphors



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Childhood friends to strangers to lovers, Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff, Inn Owner Marco, M/M, Sasha Blouse - Freeform, rated teen and up for swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28663476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallaboutflowermetaphors/pseuds/itsallaboutflowermetaphors
Summary: When Jean returns to Jinae it’s not because he wants to. It’s because his shitty job as a marketing executive demands it as research for a Christmas campaign.In which Jean meets his childhood best friend again where he least expects it, but really should since they grew up there.Written for the JeanMarco Gift Exchange 2020.
Relationships: Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein
Kudos: 14
Collections: JeanMarco Gift Exchange 2020





	And It Always Leads to You in My Hometown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pilindiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pilindiel/gifts).



> Happy JeanMarco Gift Exchange!
> 
> Dear Dani, I hope you like your gift!  
> Childhood friends is my jam and it was interesting to make Jinae a lot like the town I grew up in.  
> It has been a joy to participate again!
> 
> Title is from Taylor Swift's new song 'tis the damn season because i listened to evermore while I was writing. It may be a break-up song but i swear there's no breaking up in this fic.  
> As always here's a playlist for the fic on [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2ZjObeO5x2vT3VtQUdzWnN?si=tg_VYt1CR0ycASYls-sEXw).

When Jean returns to Jinae it’s not because he wants to. It’s because his shitty job as a marketing executive demands it as research for a Christmas campaign.  
He hasn’t been back since he left for university nearly ten years ago and did not plan to ever return once his mother moved away, too.  
For the past few miles he was alone on the road, the lights of the rental car he picked up at the airport illuminating the street and snow-covered fields.  
The town feels both familiar and foreign when he passes the town sign.  
Most things look the same, but he passes by a new house and Jean is no longer riding his bike or the passenger in his mum’s car.

He pulls into the parking lot on the inn just off the main street. The path up to the entrance of the inn is shoveled, tiny lamps and the neon sign proclaiming “The Linden Tree”, lighting the way.  
From the outside it looks a lot like Jean remembers it to be, except some changes Jean can’t quite put his finger on. Back when he lived in Jinae he walked past it every day on his way to school.  
He tries to shake off the memories, he’s here on a business matter.  
After getting his suitcase out of the trunk of the rental he walks up to the door and enters.  
The foyer is pleasantly warm, a fireplace with an evergreen wreath over it burning in the far right of the room.  
“Good evening, “ a young woman, about his own age, greets Jean with a warm smile. She’s wearing a silly looking sweater with a snowman face and a 3-D carrot design poking out of her stomach area.  
“My name is Sasha, how may I help you?”  
“Hello,” he replies, stepping up to the counter. “I booked a room for two weeks, name’s Jean Kirschstein”  
She nods, a grin fluttering across her face and starts to type at the computer. A few seconds later she announces that she has found his booking and hands over the key, “Room 20, up the stairs and the third door to the right. We serve breakfast between 6 and 11am in the breakfast room just through there.”  
She points to Jean’s left where double doors with transom windows open to another room.

Jean accepts the key, grabs his suitcase and makes his way up the stairs to find his room. Once inside he lets himself drop to the twin bed and exhales long and loud.  
He’s exhausted.  
The flight followed by two hours of driving on badly ploughed roads was dreadful.  
Slowly he takes in the room around him, the bed feels heavenly, the cotton sheets smelling fresh and feeling soft, the mustard curtains drawn shut over the panels of a bow window. There’s a little nook with a sofa situated under them.  
It’s cute, quaint, just a bit better, less rustic, than Jean imagined it to be.  
He decides to quickly unpack, change and falls into bed.

When Jean wakes up it’s to his usual early as fuck workday morning alarm. Which he intended to turn off but clearly forgot.  
He signs, knowing he’s never one to be able to fall asleep again no matter how tired he is. He’s awake for good now. And hungry.  
So at quarter past six Jean stumbles down the stairs into the breakfast room, barely acknowledging his surroundings.  
He drinks a cup of coffee and eats two rolls with strawberry jam. 

After that he goes over the outline of that cheesy holiday marketing campaign, brainstorms a bit and decides to go into town to get inspired like his supervisor instructed.

The sun has risen, by the time Jean takes the rental car, driving down the snow sludge covered main road and past some shops with plastic trees and fake presents in the window display.  
He parks near the small cobblestoned town square in Oldtown and watches, hands in his pockets, as men in orange warning vests erect a Christmas tree using a truck crane.  
They shout at each other over the noise of the running motor and crank.

Jean scoffs, so much for countryside Christmas idyll. His boss is a delusional idiot.

Jean walks around some more and is utterly unimpressed by the lack of Christmas spirit Jinae was supposed to offer.  
When it starts to rain he decides to call it a day, returning to the rental car and the inn.  
There he spends hours trying to make what he just experienced sound better and exciting and less cynic. He has limited success.

The next morning Jean gets up later and in a considerably better mood after having remembered to turn off his alarm.

However, when he gets down to the breakfast room, he swears he’s still asleep, because by the buffet, refilling the orange juice carafe, is Marco Bodt,his childhood best friend.  
It has to be him, even though Jean can’t really see his face because the man is looking down.  
He is tall, has short dark brown hair with slight curls and his entire face is covered in freckles.  
Then he looks up and freezes for just a second before giving Jean a radiant smile, “Hey, Jean. I was wondering when I was going to see you. Good morning!”  
Jean can’t really bring himself to reply, still shocked. Sure Marco grew up in Jinae, too, but perhaps some part of Jean expected him to have left.  
When Marco approaches him, Jean finally replies, “Marco? Hello.”  
“Sorry about surprising you. I saw your name in the books,” Marco tells him.  
“The books, huh?” says Jean, going up to the buffet and filling a plate with food.  
“Yeah, the books, the e-mails, the places the names of people who book reservations appear,” Marco jokes easily.  
And somehow it doesn’t feel like it has been years and years of them not seeing each other or talking.

When Jean sits down at a table he invites Marco to sit by asking, “So, how come you work here?”  
And Marco sits in the chair across from him and smiles easily while recounting the story of how he started working for a kind older couple who had been running the inn for as long as they can remember and how much he likes it. When Jean asks what Marco’s job is and Marco admits that he owns and runs the inn Jean stops him.  
“I’m sorry, what?”, he says, “How did that happen?”  
“Friedrich and Gerda, they wanted to retire and move into a more accessible house. They left me the place, said they saw how much I wanted it. Plus, at the time I was their only employee.”  
Jean nods, understanding.  
“You know, I’m thankful they made this possible, I love the place.” Marco says slowly, a smile on his face.  
They sit in a comfortable silence after that, the soft conversations of patrons and silverware background noise when Marco asks, “What brought you back to Jinae?”  
Jean signs, “Work. It’s a stupid ad campaign project about capturing the spirit of the holidays in quaint little towns. My boss knew of Jinae and apparently thinks it’s perfect here…”  
“And?” Marco asks after Jean trails off.  
“And it’s not. I went out yesterday, the snow is grey sludge and the whole town just doesn’t feel Christmas-y.”  
“Jean, they are setting up now. The first Sunday of advent is tomorrow.” Marco paused, cocking his head slightly in thought, “They should be done tonight, if you want me to show you around?”  
Truth be told, Jean feels a bit stupid, but at the same time he was never good with dates. Marco knows that.  
He nods and agrees to meeting in the foyer at six in the evening.  
“It’s been nice talking to you again,” says Marco smiling when he leaves Jean’s table.

The conversation leaves Jean off balance for a while longer because it should feel weird, but it just doesn’t. He’s glad to have met Marco again and enjoys talking to him. Marco is still kind and conversation flowed easily between them. They are just childhood friends reconnecting. Nothing more.

Marco is waiting in the foyer wearing a colorful hat with horizontal stripes and a ponpon when Jean comes down the stairs. He beams at Jean.  
“Ready?” Marco asks and Jean nods.

Marco leads them along the smaller streets, tells him about a street that has been renamed recently, it’s quieter away from the main road and cars, the snow that hasn’t been brushed off the pavement crunching under their boots, dim yellow street lights illuminating the way.  
It turns out Marco leads him to the town square again, but this time Jean stops dead in his tracks when they round the corner of the old town hall and he sees it decorated for the first time. They are standing at the Northside before him Jean sees the fountain dividing it in half, with walkways on both sides. The street lights on either side are decorated with big LED-snowflakes. The Christmas tree is standing tall behind the fountain at about 8 meters tall, decorated with hundreds of lights and baubles. Besides and behind it Jean can make out several wooden Christmas market stalls with lights hanging along their eaves.  
It looks magical.  
“Wow,” he says, “I forgot Jinae had a Christmas market.”  
Besides him Marco smiles.

“Come on,” he whispers and grabs Jean’s sleeve, pulling him across the zebra stripes, onto the town square and over to the first booth.  
The vendor sells candles of all shapes, sizes and fragrances. She has short auburn hair and gently smiles at them when they move on.  
The next stall sells hand-carved nativity figures and other woodworking. Jean likes them a lot. His eyes keep returning to a laser-cut snowflake ornament. He buys it and the grumpy looking man manning the booth wraps it in bubble wrap before putting it in a small paper bag with dancing snowmen printed on it.  
Just a few minutes later Jean’s fingers feel like they are freezing from holding his little bag. Marco notices him blowing on them in an attempt to keep them warm.  
Instead of saying anything he just smiles a knowing smile and pulls Jean along to the last stall. They sell mulled wine, non-alcoholic punch, hot chocolate and other hot drinks.  
Marco recommends the punch and they both get a mug. It’s a dark red and has a painting of Jinae’s Christmas market on it. They stand at one of the standing tables that has a mushroom heater installed and Marco takes his gloves off to warm his hands on the mug.  
The punch tastes of apple, elderberries, tart cherries and is wonderfully spiced.

After that they are both cold and slowly make their way back to the inn. 

It had snowed around midday and this time Marco walks them along the pedestrian way through the meadows and brook. The snow around them is untouched and Jean suddenly has the urge to start a snowball fight. While Marco is distracted talking about one of the vendors Jean sneaks down the slight decline and quickly balls up a handful of snow.  
He hits Marco in the back and Marco turns around surprised.  
“Jean!” he yells and then runs into the valley to gather some snow himself.  
When Jean is hit with the first snowball he remembers that it is a terrible mistake to have a snowball fight with Marco Bodt. Marco’s aim is by far better.  
It’s still fun, both of them laughing. 

After a few minutes though Jean’s fingers feel like they are freezing again and Marco clearly has the advantage since he is wearing gloves.  
So Jean decides to take the offense and perhaps cheat by tackling Marco against the incline.  
Honestly, he’s surprised when it actually works and he lands on top of Marco.  
However, his face then ends just centimeters from Marco’s and that’s not something Jean thought about before. Yet, it feels just right when he leans in to kiss him and Marco kisses back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading I hope you like it.  
> Please consider leaving Kudos and a comment. <3  
> I have struggled a lot with writers block the past year and this is the first time i have written more than a hundred words in a year.  
> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/RainySidewalk), [tumblr](http://itsallaboutflowermetaphors.tumblr.com) and


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